


Understood

by lady_mab



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Other, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-10-14 21:19:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17516051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_mab/pseuds/lady_mab
Summary: Fourteen’s reactions to her speak of an honesty that could not come with familiarity. There’s no contempt, for what she’s done. There’s no scorn, for what she believed. There’s no pity, for what she’s lost.Tender never realized how much she needed that until she met Fourteen, and they made her smile with an ease she had nearly forgotten.





	Understood

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kaynara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaynara/gifts).



The door closes behind Cascara, and Tender Sky is left in the room with the two people she is expected to work with until the time when the Cadent sees fit to dismantle them. 

One, famous, looking so old and tired, shoulders slumped, the disgraced Excerpt Signet, sitting like she doesn’t command the most attention in any room that she is in. 

The other, barely noticeable, young and bright, standing tall and impressive with broad shoulders and a strong jaw, was introduced as Fourteen Fifteen, a Castlerose agent. 

Then there is her. 

It’s a struggle to adjust back to a life where she is expected to play by certain rules, after she had been told she could have anything she wanted. She can still feel the way her parole officer’s hand gripped her arm hard when bringing her onto the ship. It might have bruised if Tender wasn’t so skilled at manipulating her appearances in digital spaces. It might have remained noticeable if Tender didn’t want to pretend like nothing was wrong. 

There’s still a space—in her head, where something used to be. In her heart, where some _one_ used to be.

The room is silent, except for the hum of the ship’s engines. No one says anything. It’s almost like a standoff, except none of them carries enough tension, and they have a hard time meeting anyone else’s gaze. 

“Well,” Fourteen finally says, voice soft in a way that is both disarming and dangerous. “It’s a pleasure to meet the two of you.” Their eyes keep dancing in Tender’s direction, and she doesn’t know if she’s flattered or intimidated. 

“Yes, of course,” Signet says in a rush, as if she forgot where she was until that moment. “Please, sit. I’ll make us some tea.” She stands, and everything seems to gather to her like a new center of gravity. The command of an Excerpt, Tender figures. 

Open had that same kind of gravitas, and a smile that could convince anyone to do what she asked. 

Tender wonders if Signet remembers how to smile in a way that isn’t mechanical and forced. 

Fourteen moves towards the table and pulls out a chair. They hesitate, then stand aside and gesture for Tender to take it. 

She stares at the chair, then at them, at the hopeful expression on their face. “Oh,” Tender says as it starts to click into place. “Thank you.” 

She takes the offered chair, and they take the one across from her. 

There’s only the three chairs, and the table is round, but the chairs are arranged in such a way that it feels like one is missing. That there should be a fourth, across from where Signet will take a place at the arbitrary head. 

Instead, Fourteen sits across from Tender, and there’s the awkward moment where they both can’t decide to meet each other’s eyes or just continue to steal furtive glances. 

“So,” Tender starts, desperate to focus on anything other than the sounds of Signet in the ship’s kitchenette. “Castlerose agent, huh? What’s that like?” 

“Oh. You know.” They make a dismissive gesture with their hands. 

She doesn’t, really, but she smiles anyway. “You’re a little young.” 

They shrug. “Keeps me busy,” Fourteen adds, but that’s not a useful descriptor, nor does it really address her statement. “You?” 

Tender’s not too sure what the question is supposed to be asking, so she gives her best answer. “Between jobs, at the moment.” 

“Good thing for the Beloved then, huh?” Fourteen grins, and there’s something wonderfully naive in the expression that Tender can feel her own smile ease. 

“It will keep us out of trouble,” she says with a wink, and Fourteen ducks their head—but not before Tender can see the hint of a blush across their cheeks. 

She will have to tread carefully. 

Signet returns at that moment. She sets the tea service down in the middle of the table, and easily slips into the role of the host. 

Tender focuses her attention on the Excerpt instead. There had been some degree of familiarity between her and Cascara, but that would make some sense. The Beloved were just another extension of the Cadent, as were Excerpts. 

She wanted to ask Signet about it—about Open’s idea, about the space in her head that still burns, if the space that a Divine used to occupy will ever stop burning. 

But then she notices Fourteen across the table. Their attention is also on Signet, as they answer a question about their tea. 

Tender’s ears twitch in consideration, and then she pushes the thought down. There will be plenty of time to ask Signet about it later. 

Once the tea is served and Signet settles back down into her chair, she pulls up the dossier on their first job as a team. This is Tender’s new life. 

It is a chance for atonement. 

* * *

One of the things about trying to leave a past behind is that sometimes it catches up with you. 

Not literally, not really. Open Metal is gone, physically, from Tender’s life. But that absence in the shape of her rears its ugly head from time to time. 

An ever-constant presence—there, but different. Hers, but different. Softer. Stronger. A familiar hand to hold in the dark, but one she knows shouldn’t be there. 

There are things that she can still do that she shouldn’t be able to. 

She does a bad job at hiding this, and the way that it bothers her. 

Signet is obviously concerned, but has more grace than to press the topic. Especially when their partnership is so young—so much unspoken knowledge about what the other has done, gleaned only from the news and gossip. They have an awkward dance around one another, where they know that if they bring up the topic, they will be forced to answer questions in kind. 

Fourteen doesn’t appear to have these same reservations, but they also don’t seem to have the words to ask. 

Their ignorance, feigned or otherwise, is… different. Refreshing? Tender’s not too sure even she knows, but she finds that she enjoys being around them. 

They pay her a specific kind of attention: Soft, close, careful. They know her moods almost better than she does, and not for the first time, she wonders if she’s ever met them before. 

But she couldn’t have. 

Fourteen’s reactions to her speak of an honesty that could not come with familiarity. There’s no contempt, for what she’s done. There’s no scorn, for what she believed. There’s no pity, for what she’s lost. 

Tender never realized how much she needed that until she met Fourteen, and they made her smile with an ease she had nearly forgotten. 

* * *

Tender finds Fourteen spinning their gun almost-expertly on their finger before catching the grip and striking a pose. There’s a beat, then they repeat the action. 

Then a third time, though they spot Tender as they spin their gun, fumble the catch, and drop it on the floor of the ship. “Oh.” 

“What are you doing?” she asks, thoroughly amused. She joins them in the common room as they pick up their gun and inspect it for any damage. 

“Nothing,” they say quickly, shoving the gun into the shoulder holster with a little more force than necessary. They pause, and glance down at her briefly before looking away. “I thought maybe it would be fun to be a cowboy.” 

Her tail swishes idly from side to side, and she has to fight to keep the grin from spreading completely over her face. “Really? You’re already a bounty hunter.” 

“No. I know. I just mean…” The blush makes them look even younger, but Tender has seen the look they get in their eyes from time to time. They’re older than they seem. Perhaps like Signet, though Tender can’t sense anything Divine in Fourteen. 

They rub their hand against the back of their head, mussing up the short, dark strands. “Like in the movies. With a horse and an unknown world before me.” Their lips twist into a smirk, then they sigh. “Land at all would be nice.” 

“A little ‘home on the range’?” Tender teases, not willing to let the disappointment that lurks in the corner of their expression take over. She moves and drops down onto one of the couches with a loud, tired sigh. “That would be the dream, huh? A little house, lots of space, no one around but adventure!” She pats the space next to her. 

Fourteen huffs a laugh of their own and sits on the edge of the cushion, unwilling to relax. “It kind of sounds silly, doesn’t it?” 

“Not at all. It sounds like a decent retirement plan.” She tilts her head back to stare up at the ceiling, but can feel Fourteen’s gaze on her. Eventually, she lets her head roll to the side and she returns their attention. 

There’s confusion in the lines of their expression as they study her face. Uncertainty, like something forgotten. “Retirement, huh?” They drop their gaze to the space between them, then to their hands, folded primly in their lap. 

The silence grows, stretches, becomes something nearly tangible. Tender study’s the back of their head, at the way their hair still sticks up. She considers the impulse to reach out and fix it for them. 

But before she can act on it, Fourteen suddenly says, “Tender, I—” before losing the brief surge of motivation they had. 

She waits for them to say something else. To explain. 

They don’t. 

She wonders if she should push. To question that lost look that they give her. 

She doesn’t, and eventually, Fourteen rises to their feet and leaves without saying anything else.  

* * *

Fourteen looks around themself in wonder every time they enter the Steady. This time is no different, though they have been docked on this station for nearly a week, and it shouldn’t be a surprise. 

But Tender enjoys the excitement on their face whenever they come to visit her at her bar. 

“What will it be tonight?” she asks, tail dancing delightedly behind her as she leans on the counter towards them. 

Signet is not with them. She has other duties to attend to when they are between jobs, and they keep her away from the ship. Tender gets it—Signet is an Excerpt, even if without a Divine. People still look to her duties of the church. But sometimes she wishes that they can all hang out as a team. 

As friends. 

They squint up at the wall behind her, as if it is in any way a comprehensive menu, as if she can’t just get them exactly what they want to drink. 

She tries a different tactic. “What are you feeling?” 

Fourteen sighs, shoulders drooping. “Unmoored.” A beat, and then, as if realizing what they just said, adds, “Is that a flavor?” 

“No,” she says, uncertain if she should laugh or be concerned. It’s hard to tell with them. “Maybe just tea.” 

They look like they want to argue, lips pursing and a drawn out hum echoing in their chest. But then they let it drop and place on a careful but honest smile. “Tea is good.” Fourteen shrugs out of their jacket and slides into one of the stools at the bar. “It looks different than the last time I was in here.” 

This, like the look of awe and wonderment, is also routine. “New location, new design! That’s my business motto!” 

“I thought the motto was ‘nothing is constant at the Steady’?” they tease, and this gets her to laugh. Their smile eases a degree, and Tender lets that reassurance linger as she busies herself with preparing tea for them. 

Once the drink has been delivered, she turns to other guests. She makes the rounds, enjoying the glimpses of conversations she gets when passing through. The greetings from familiar faces, meeting new ones. 

Behind her, like an anchor, rests Fourteen Fifteen. Sipping their tea and studying the screen of their communications device. She is aware of them no matter where she goes within her bar, and she’s not sure if it’s because it is _them_ that she is aware of, or if it is because they are in _her_ space. 

Eventually, like she always does, Tender returns to their side. 

The movement is natural, easy. She hops onto the stool next to theirs, studying their expression before reaching into the Mesh to create a drink for herself. “Do you want to talk?” 

They cast a sideways glance at her, and she wonders what they are thinking. What is going on behind those grey eyes, if she’ll ever learn what else they’ve seen that makes them look so _old_ sometimes. “I haven’t received any new jobs from the Agency recently,” Fourteen finally answers. “It’s just… a little weird. Normally I would have received the details for one by now, but…” 

Something in their stare is a question, and they offer it to her as if she is the answer. 

Tender looks away first, and not for the first time when confronted with Fourteen’s frank stare, she feels herself blush. “Have you tried asking?”  

Fourteen tuts, amused. “That’s not how the Agency works.” 

“Maybe they fired you.” She means for this to be a joke, but there’s a moment of real fear on their face, skin going pale and their grip tightening on their cup of tea. “I’msorry.” The words come out in a rush, and she finds herself reaching for their hand. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“It’s… A possibility,” they force out. “I don’t know if… they would… but…” 

“Fourteen—” 

They look at her, as if seeing her for the first time. No matter how often they look at her with curiosity in their gaze, there is always a sense of familiarity. This time, it runs deeper than that. Something that just occurred to them, that has taken the shape of her. 

The answer they were looking for, possibly found. 

But then it passes just as quickly as it came and they duck their head back towards their tea. “Sorry,” they murmur, though she can tell they don’t know why they’re apologizing. There’s a furrow to their brow, a fuzziness to their movements. 

She’s seen that in their behavior before, too. Tender doesn’t push, but she shifts so that her arm is against theirs and that seems to steady them. 

Before either of them can say anything, Fourteen’s communicator beeps with a new message, and the emblem for the Beloved Dust flashes across the screen before it goes dark again. 

“A new job,” Tender observes, accessing her own inbox in the Mesh to pull the notice from Cascara. “Looks easy enough.” 

Fourteen’s shoulders slump, and this time the smile isn’t enough to convince her that they’re not disappointed. Still waiting for that confirmation from the Agency that _they exist_. “Yeah. We can look into the basics while waiting for Signet to return.” They knock back the rest of their tea and pull their jacket back on. “See you on the outside?” 

Tender’s ears twitch, but she smiles and nods. “Let me just clean up here. See you in a bit, Fourteen.” 

They linger for just a moment, looking around the Steady—committing it to memory, even though it will never look this way again, and that is supposed to be part of its charm. And then they look to her and she decides something in that moment that she will have to pick apart and inspect later. “Bye, Tender.” 

Her heart hurts a little when they are gone, but she knows the absence is only temporary. They had become a salve to her missing pieces before she even realized it. 

* * *

The job is straightforward enough. 

There is a small-time smuggler, working for a larger ring, that the Beloved Dust are tasked with bringing in. Get them to talk, and they can reveal secrets for the rest of this organization. It’s a quick trip across the Mirage to the Tides of Harmony, and from there, the pieces fall into place.

They find the smuggler’s name, the location of the warehouse they operate out of, and one very important detail: The smuggler isn’t connected to the Mesh. Which means that Tender’s normal approach wouldn’t work against them. 

“It’s fine,” she says. “I’ll keep others from getting in, but it will be on the two of you to prevent them from getting out.” 

So, when Fourteen and Signet peel away into the shadows of the warehouse, Tender ascends to the roof of one of the taller buildings to get a clear view of the area.

Cascara’s message said that there would likely be others in the area, but their efforts were on one specific smuggler: Echo Reverie. They had the knowledge of the ring that the Cadent wished to dismantle. Anyone else would be unrelated links, different paths that the Beloved Dust didn’t have permission to pursue. A possible waste of time and resources that lead to dead ends.  

Sure enough, there are a few who approach the warehouse—either as backup, or as part of a pre-scheduled arrangement. But Tender has an easy enough job keeping them distracted. Move a door over here, divert a hall over there. From there, she’s able to knock them out and ensure they’re out of the way. 

_All clear out here_ , Tender types into her comm device. _How’s our friend?_

There’s a minute, then two, before she gets a reply. 

Fourteen responds with a picture—Signet kneeling next to the smuggler as she places cuffs on them. _All good in here. Rejoin us?_

Tender grins and hops down from her position on the roof. She saunters into the building, restoring it to its original layout in the Mesh as she goes. Her gaze does a cursory sweep around the room as she enters, a habit born of the job. “Good job!” 

“Same to you. They tried to call in backup, but you kept them busy.” Fourteen moves to stand beside her, the hint of a smile playing on their lips. 

Signet joins the two of them, letting out a soft breath. “I’ve called for a transport. An official will be here soon to take them into custody.” 

Across the warehouse floor, sullen but silent, sits Echo—hands cuffed behind their back and feet restrained with Signet’s kinetic sash. 

“They didn’t give you too much trouble, did they?” Tender teases, noticing the slight state of disarray Signet’s hair is in. 

The other woman purses her lips, but there’s amusement in her expression as she pulls smartly at her robes. “Nothing Fourteen and I couldn’t handle,” she says, and the two of them exchange a fond look.

From there, it’s out of their hands. 

They keep an eye and ear out for any more sound of interference, but there’s nothing. They wait for the transport to arrive to take Echo away. 

The warehouse is cordoned off, and the Beloved are released from their duties. 

Stretching her arms up over her head, Tender lets out a content hum. “Do the two of you want to go get a drink? Celebrate a job well done?” 

“Have you already found a spot for the Steady?” Signet asks. “We’ve barely even been here a few hours.” 

“No, let’s check out something local! I don’t want to have to work _all_ the time I want a drink.” 

Fourteen walks a bit behind them, withdrawn into their own thoughts. They’ve said before that they’ve never had the chance to celebrate with a team after a job. The Agency has them work alone for contracts, so having to learn how to work with two others had been a challenge. 

But they smile easier than they did before and Tender allows a pleased swish of her tail.

They’re not too far out of the warehouse district when Signet pulls up short. Her head tilts, and her brow furrows. 

“Something wrong?” Fourteen asks. 

“I hear something... “ Her fine features darken, uncertain. “It might be nothing, but… There’s something off about it.” 

There’s a beat of hesitation between them before Fourteen clears their throat. “I’ll go check it out.” 

“I’ll come with you—” Tender starts, but they shake their head. 

“I won’t be long. Where’s it coming from?” 

As Signet gives them her best estimate, Tender tries to not look like she’s sulking. 

Fourteen leaves a brief touch to the back of Tender’s hand before they turn away. They jog back in the direction they had come from, and are lost into the shadows. 

The temptation to follow after is strong, but she resists. Her concern is mirrored on Signet’s face. “What do you think it is?” 

“Honestly, it’s so muffled that it’s hard to tell. I almost ignored it, but the rhythm caught my attention.” Signet loops one arm around her stomach, gaze focused on a point on the ground but attention clearly following the sound of Fourteen. 

Tender knows better than to start pacing. It will distract Signet, but she can’t deny the tension that has locked itself onto her spine. 

The job had been easy. Was it too easy? Is this something they should have looked out for, or is it just an anomaly? 

Tender starts to debate if she should just ignore Fourteen’s request and instead follow after. But before she can draw the breath to make the suggestion, Signet’s expression shifts. 

“Move—” Signet says, and Tender registers the panic on her face. She reaches for Tender as the first spark of flame erupts from one of the buildings. 

“That’s...” Tender doesn’t know how to speak. Her brain is caught as the fire grows, latching onto the painful fact. “That’s where Fourteen is.” 

The distant sound of sirens kicks up almost immediately. The officials must not have gotten far with Echo by the time the fire starts, but there’s little reassurance. 

_We have to go to them_ , Tender wants to say. She takes a breath, tries, but nothing comes. 

The flames lick closer, spilling onto the next building, spreading. All she can hear is the roar of the blaze echoing the pounding blood in her ears. 

“Come on,” Signet breathes, her hands clenched on Tender’s biceps. 

Before Tender can find her voice and respond, Signet screws her eyes shut and whispers again. 

“Come on, comeoncomeon—” She’s not speaking to Tender. She’s not speaking to Fourteen, though she repeats the mantra that runs on a loop inside Tender’s head. 

_C’mon, Fourteen, get out._

A growl of frustration leaves Signet and her grip around Tender tightens. “Fuck,” she says, and it's such a sudden and passionate swear that Tender can’t help the strained, terrified laugh that leaves her. 

But then her breath catches and it turns into a sob and Signet is pulling her away as the fire leaps out a window towards them. 

Her feet scramble for purchase on the asphalt, but she doesn’t have the energy to fight back. It’s only Signet’s hands that keeps her upright. 

She thinks that Signet might be saying something, but all Tender can hear is the roar of her blood in her ears and all she can feel is the heat of the flames and all she can think is _come on come on comeoncomeon_ — 

* * *

Signet’s grip doesn’t leave her for any longer than necessary during the night. Tender is thankful for the other woman’s presence. It’s calming, grounding, silent in a way that she can lose herself in the emptiness of it and forget about the reality of the situation.

There’s a bruise on her arm, now that Signet has finally let her go. It throbs with a dull ache, but the small burns on her skin from where the embers landed remind her that it could have been worse. 

It has been a day. 

They’ve received the summons from Cascara a few hours earlier, and they made their way to the docks so that they could catch a ride back to the Beloved’s ship. 

Neither Tender nor Signet know how to find the strength to argue. To say that they won’t leave until they know Fourteen is okay. 

So, instead, they obey. 

Tender stands impatiently on the dock. Her tail swishes languidly from side to side. Voices ebb and flow around her, bodies pushing past on their way to their own ships and transports. She lets the noise wash over her like static—considers tapping into the Mesh to simply mess with the noise until she can’t pick anything out. 

Her first clue that something is going to happen is the way Signet’s posture suddenly changes as she talks to one of the dock workers. Signet’s shoulders stiffen, and her head turns just a degree—enough so that her enhanced ear is angled towards the crowd at large. 

Her gaze catches Tender’s as soon as Tender hears someone calling her name. 

“Tender! Tender Sky, _wait_!” Fourteen’s voice, cutting through the noise of the crowd and lodging itself in her ribs. 

Something that Tender didn’t know had stopped in her chest starts to work again. Her brain scrambles for things to say. Apologies, questions, anything that would help explain the immense relief flooding through her. 

Her eyes scan the crowds, desperate for a view of them, a glance, the visual confirmation that they are okay. 

Her gaze is blocked by a figure who comes to a stop directly in front of her. They’re older, leaning into their sixties, with thinning hair on their head and crows’ feet at the corners of their eyes. They’re dressed in a way that Tender imagines a person who has only seen cowboys in movies would dress. 

They stand before her, hands on their hips, as if _she_ is the one in _their_ way. 

Tender’s lips twitch into a frown, and her ears flatten back on her head. “I’m sorry, but—” she starts to say, but then her eyes land on the holster at their hip, on the butt of the gun made out of glass and carved with birds and flowers. 

And the person before her says, “Tender, I’m glad I found you,” and the thing inside her chest that stopped then started stutters in a confused lurch. 

“I’m sorry,” she repeats, licking her lips nervously as Signet moves to stand beside her. “Who are you?” 

There must be some mistake. 

She’s hearing what she wants to hear, and this person is someone else, someone she’s forgotten, or knows her through the media, or— 

The person huffs a laugh, and it’s the same sound, but it feels so different coming from this figure. “Perhaps an introduction is in order,” they say, bemused, and hold out a hand. “I’m Fourteen Fifteen.” 

**Author's Note:**

> KAY!!!! I know I just wrote you something not too long ago for the nb exchange but also like I laughed a lot when I got you because of that reason. 
> 
> Also, I made a playlist! Thanks to everyone who gave me song suggestions!  
> [holla](https://open.spotify.com/user/1242640094/playlist/14tW1OdX6YPanlVUeTz4OG?si=3fzljT7xQ0-_VzxKb25Rsw)


End file.
